


Two Sugars, Extra Cream

by Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Saturday Night Live Fusion, Crack, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hate Sex, Mistaken Identity, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Randy the intern - Freeform, Saturday Night Live References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/pseuds/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard
Summary: Rey has never really thought about having a ‘type’ before, but she can’t say that she likes Randy's stringy blonde hair or his ragged little goatee.  She’s not even sure he really likes her; not that the long, auburn wig does her any favors, but Randy wasn’t exactly throwing himself at her feet before she started dragging him into a supply closet every Wednesday afternoon during the pickup run.She can’t say what it is about him.  Maybe it’s just that they’ve got some energy to burn and they both hate their jobs.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Randy the Intern
Comments: 111
Kudos: 633





	Two Sugars, Extra Cream

Randy is not going to get a permanent position at the conclusion of his internship. Rey doesn’t think this could possibly be news to him: for one, he’s manifestly bad at his current job. At this point, Poe and Finn aren’t even pretending to deliver FTL couplings to the First Order dreadnought under their cover as electrical components suppliers. Far from delivering components, they dock every Wednesday after lunch and loot the place. They started slow, taking away small boxes of hard-to-source parts under the guise of “repairing them.” After Randy’s thousand-yard-stare did not falter for the first three weeks of thievery, they’ve moved on to bigger game. Now, they carry out weapons, food packets, and once even a full-sized futon, and Randy doesn’t even blink.

Of course, that might have something to do with Rey, better known on this ship as “Karen with Mass Effect Electrical Supply.” Because after two weeks of lookout duty, Rey crossed the hangar bay where Poe and Finn left her to guard the potential retreat, and wiped that distant, petulant expression off Randy the intern’s face. By sticking her tongue down his throat and her hand down his pants.

She can’t say what it is about him. Maybe it’s just that they’ve got some energy to burn and they both hate their jobs. 

Rey has never really thought about having a ‘type’ before, but she can’t say that she likes his stringy blonde hair or the ragged little goatee. She’s not even sure he really likes her; not that the long, auburn wig and brow gel she’s applied to disguise herself do her any favors, but he wasn’t exactly throwing himself at her feet before she started dragging him into a supply closet every Wednesday afternoon during the pickup run. 

Because there’s another thing about Randy. He’s some kind of RPF shipper for Kylo Ren and Rey. A Reylo, as he puts it. It’s fucking weird. Rey reads as much smutty fanfiction as the next girl (which is to say, quite a lot), but even she has to draw the line at shipping real life people. One of whom is herself, and one of whom is her mortal enemy. Ish. It’s even weirder that Randy, who does nothing but bitch work for the First Order, self-inserts so hard in the Supreme Leader. 

She’s not sure why Randy would pick those two, out of the whole galaxy, to fantasize about, but it’s obviously capturing the vast majority of his inner life. It also goes a long way towards explaining why he puts up with her, even though she’s not exactly nice to him. There’s probably not another woman on any world who would put up with Randy’s babbling about Kylo Ren and Rey while she’s literally got his cock in her mouth. It doesn’t offend Rey that he thinks her tits are ‘just as perky as the Jedi’s.’ They are. They very are. 

As a fuck buddy, he’s got some downsides. Beyond the crying after sex (not to mention before and during, the first few times) and the way he shouts the wrong name when he comes (actually the right name, but it’s the principle of the thing), he’s usually kind of a tool. The one time Rey tried to float the idea that a First Order internship was probably not the best career move for a man in his mid-thirties, he shut that down so hard she would have thought he was commanding fleets, not fetching caf and guarding (theoretically) empty hangar bays. 

“The First Order is the premiere military organization in the entire galaxy,” he informed her haughtily. “The Supreme Leader is bringing a new order to the chaos of the New Republic. Once the Jedi joins him, they’ll be unstoppable.”

Even if he hasn’t bothered to read any of the employee manuals, Randy has obviously absorbed the corporate mission statement. 

“I just don’t think you’re well-suited for it,” Rey says one day. She’s grinding her clit against his pubic bone from her perch astride him, and he’s doing something ineffectual with his thumbs and her nipples, but they’re not past the point of polite conversation. Randy’s puffy vest is pillowing her knees as she rides him. 

“Oh yeah? My review was fine,” he says. 

Rey squeezes her intimate muscles to keep his attention and says, “Sure, but where’s the possibility for advancement? You’re never going to be anything but a grunt at this rate. You should join the Resistance instead. There’s a lot more room to grow into a job.” 

He snorts. “Oh sure, like they’re any better. You can tell the Jedi hates it there. She looks miserable in every holovid they circulate.”

Rey gasps in outrage. 

“She is working for the freedom of the entire galaxy! Happiness isn’t the point,” she tells him, bucking her hips to make him gasp. 

“I’m just saying, she’d be happier if she’d taken the Supreme Leader’s hand the first time he offered it,” Randy argues stubbornly. He puts his hands on her bare hips, thrusts up hard to make his point. “She could have had everything, instead of a stupid band of scavengers.” 

Rey retaliates by pinching his nipple painfully. It has the opposite effect from what she intended, and he, if anything, gets harder inside her. He swivels his hips until his cock is sliding against a spot that makes her see stars. So she doesn’t respond in any way that could divert Randy’s attention from exactly what he’s doing. She closes her eyes so that she doesn’t have to see his knowing smirk as her orgasm rips through her. She doesn’t bother to hide the way her hands clench on his chest as she drifts through the little moment of peace that makes what they do in the supply closet worthwhile.

“You’re getting good at this,” she mumbles in the moment after, when she is draped over his broad and sweaty chest. He is still moving steadily beneath her, not yet chasing his own satisfaction.

“I’ve been reading some of the ancient Sith texts about mastery of the body,” Randy replies. “Kylo Ren studies them too. He’d be even better at this.”

“Oh yeah?” Rey mumbles against Randy’s neck. She doesn’t want to think about Kylo Ren while she’s fucking Randy. Randy smells like blue puff cube crumbles and sweat. Rey can’t even remember what Kylo smelled like. “Maybe I should get Kylo down here next week. He sounds like he knows how to show a girl a real good time.” 

Randy snarls and flips them over. The puffer vest isn’t sufficient padding on the cold, plasticrete floor of the storage room, and her hipbones immediately feel like they’re going to bruise.

Randy lifts one of her legs and tosses it over his shoulder. Rey usually makes sure to be on top, and the position isn’t one they’ve tried before. It’s just on the edge of painful; say what she will about Randy’s grooming and personality, his cock is everything she could have ever wanted and probably an inch or two more. 

“Kylo Ren would _not_ come down here and fuck you on the floor of the storage room. He’s waiting for his true love. He’s not going to use his secret Sith techniques on anyone else.” Randy has the strangest headcanons about Kylo Ren. The way he talks about him, he’s some kind of lovesick knight errant.

Rey scoffs. “He needs to go find Rey and apologize if he doesn’t want to die a virgin.”

“That’s a sensitive subject for him. He’ll find her when he’s ready,” Randy growls, wrapping a hand loosely around Rey’s neck. He’s not squeezing, but the threat of it makes Rey’s cunt pulse in wretched satisfaction.

“Well, maybe he’s waited too long,” Rey gasps. “If he’s waiting for Rey of Jakku, maybe he should have tried talking to her about it. She’s probably found someone else by now.”

And it’s not like Randy counts as _someone else,_ but Randy doesn’t know that, and he’ll hear no slander of his heroine. He growls and fucks Rey roughly for longer than she would have thought he had in him, then pulls out to come vengefully across her tits in messy white stripes. She’s a little lightheaded when she pulls her clothes back on and staggers back into the hangar bay.

Finn and Poe are waiting with half a disassembled hyperdrive engine, both giving her looks of identical disapproval. 

They wordlessly watch Randy emerge behind her, zipping up his poorly-fitting chinos and stalking away without a second glance.

Rey tries to keep her shoulders straight and her head up as they load their spoils and prepare to head back to Ajan Kloss.

“You can sit in the galley,” Finn mutters to her. “You smell like First Order poontang.” 

“Oh, we’re judging each other now?” Rey snaps at him. “What does Rose think about banging men who worked for the First Order? Can you tell me? Because you’re talking with her again? I didn’t think you were talking again.”

“Wait, what about Finn and Rose?” Poe asks, sticking his head out of the cockpit.

“Nothing. There is nothing at all to say about Finn and Rose,” Finn grits out. “Nobody has anything at all to say about Finn and Rose. Got it?” he glares at Rey meaningfully.

She knows Finn thinks what she’s doing with Randy is gross. Because “gross!” was his exact exclamation, the first time she met them after a supply run with her wig askew and big purple hickies all over neck and chin. But he doesn’t have any room to shame her. None of them do.

The next week, Rey brings a blank application form for the Resistance. Because even if she doesn’t _care_ care about Randy, banging him in the storage closet has been the only respite she’s had since Crait, and he deserves better than being blown to plasma once Finn and Poe finish stripping this dreadnought for parts in slow motion.

“What’s that?” he asks when she hands it to him. “An application form for the Resistance. I started filling it out already. I put that you had some experience in procurement, since that’s not too much of a stretch, and I’d be willing to be a reference…”

“Fuck the Resistance,” he snarls, tossing it on the ground. “I’m not doing procurement for a band of rebel scum. I’m part of a new galactic empire-“

“The part of the galactic empire that makes sure there’s enough sarlacc cream in the admiral’s caf?” Rey demands. 

“I’ll show you sarlacc cream,” Randy growls, fumbling for his zipper. Rey sighs. It was too much to hope. She supposes that a lot of people join the First Order just for the steady paycheck and the low-deductible dental plan. She can see how the heroism of the Resistance would be intimidating to regular grunts like Randy.

“You know, they have training programs,” she says, more gently, unzipping her own flightsuit. “If you wanted to do something else—engine repair, maybe? They could teach you—”

“I don’t just fetch caf,” Randy interrupts. His lower lip is more sullen than usual, protruding from within that regrettable goatee. “I know how all of the starfighters work. I helped _design_ them.” Rey rolls her eyes. Sure, Randy.

Randy gets his pants and vest off, then goes after her underclothes. It’s cold in the storage closet, and Rey usually tries to keep bits of her clothing on, but it’s a delicate balance between staying warm and having padding on the floor for knees and elbows and other poky bits of anatomy.

“I can fly any ship in this entire fleet, including this one,” Randy continues to boast, unconvincingly.

Rey tries to shut him up by flicking her tongue against the bottom curve of his earlobe—usually a conversation-stopper—but Randy is lost to his rant. 

“I’ve studied history and culture across hundreds of worlds,” he continues, and Rey is forced to resort to a cheap trick with the base of his cock to bring his attention down to where she is sinking onto the wadded nest of their clothing. She yanks on his hand next, and he obligingly kneels down next to her.

“I can calligraph. Not just names, but whole books,” he tells her very self-importantly, as though anyone cared about that. 

“Uh huh. I get it. You’re a polymath. A credit to the First Order,” Rey says, pushing on his shoulder. He lays back, still arguing with her. 

“I can speak over a dozen different languages. Fluently. Even Shyriiwook.” 

“It’s going to be kind of hard for you to do that with your tongue in my pussy, but you’re welcome to try,” Rey tells him, climbing over his face.

If there’s one thing she can say that she wholeheartedly loves about Randy, it’s the way that giant nose of his bumps her clit when he’s eating her out. 

Afterwards, she feels a little bad for suggesting that Randy can’t hack it in the First Order, so she wiggles down and returns the favor. It’s a precarious position; Randy’s not the brightest star in the constellation, but if her wig falls askew, he’s liable to recognize the Resistance’s infamous Jedi, given the number of wanted posters papered around the galaxy with her face on them. 

“I wanted to be a pilot,” he mutters, before Rey’s gotten really serious with her rhythm. 

“Hmm?” she manages to query without taking her lips off the little dimple below his cockhead that she traces with her tongue. 

“Before all this. Before—” he moans when Rey’s lips encircle him completely and she gives a first pull. “Fuck. Before everything. I used to want to be a pilot.”

And that’s not strange. Not unusual. It’s probably the first thing Randy’s ever told her that felt true.

So she lets him come in her mouth. And she takes the application with her when she leaves. Everyone wants to be a pilot. The Resistance already has enough of those.

Any sympathy Randy gained with that small confession is wiped out when he meets her the next week in the storage closet with a bottle of ball-bearing engine lubricant and an indecent proposal.

“This galaxy will decay into heat death before I put that stuff in my ass,” Rey tells Randy firmly. 

“I researched it,” Randy tells her, eyes intent. “It’s safe for human consumption.”

“Oh, is that something else you learned from Kylo Ren?” Rey taunts him. “Is that what he’s used for lube since the last Jedi told him to go fuck himself?”

“I told you, they’re going to work things out,” Randy snarls right back. “And maybe so. I’m sure he’s just as curious about anal as…as anybody.”

And that thought just makes Rey see red. Something about the idea that Kylo Ren has used these past months to go on his own journal of sexual exploration just doesn’t sit right with Rey. He’d been the one to screw up. He’d been the one on his knees. It wouldn’t be right for him to go off and do a bunch of butt stuff with a bunch of First Order floozies even if he’s using engine grease and it’s going to make his prick drop off sooner or later.

“Well, then maybe I can borrow the last Jedi’s lightsaber, and the next time I’m here I’ll fuck _your_ ass with it, since that’s the only butt stuff the Jedi would _ever_ do with Kylo Ren!” Rey pushes Randy square on the chest, and he staggers back a bit, looking more shocked than Rey would even have expected.

“Wait. Do you…or were you just saying that? Do you actually know the Jedi?” Randy gasps, his eyes going wide. 

Rey crosses her arms on her chest. “Maybe I do,” she says sullenly. Maybe she really ought to peg Randy. Maybe she ought to send Kylo Ren a postcard, telling him that she’s been having a lot of fun, doing a lot of weird butt stuff while he’s been running the First Order, and never calling her even once. 

Randy’s face is appalled. Wheels are clearly turning inside his head.

“You’re with the Resistance,” he gasps.

Rey puts her palm over her face. She might have disguised herself, but after the first few trips to this dreadnought, the only thing she’s done to cover her affiliation is put a piece of tape over the Resistance insignia on her flight suit.

“Yes, you idiot. Yes, I’m with the Resistance. How is this possibly news to you? What did you _think_ I’ve been doing here?”

Randy gazes down at his crotch in muddled confusion. Clearly he thought the sex was just so good that she was coming back every week to get her pipe laid. 

Abruptly, Randy seizes her by the upper arms, his face distraught. “You haven’t told the Jedi. Anything I said about Kylo Ren. Or…or…about us.”

Rey blinks at his vehemence. What would Randy care? Oh, his OTP. It’s never going to happen, Randy, she thinks. It’s been months. Kylo probably isn’t even thinking about her and the way things might have been anymore. 

So instead Rey rolls her eyes at Randy. “What possible reason would I have to tell her I’m hatefucking a First Order intern in a supply closet? She’s got bigger stuff to think about. Jedi stuff. Future of the galaxy stuff. She doesn’t care about…about sex.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Randy says, morosely. He stares down at the can of ball bearing grease in his hand. Then puts it away on the shelf. Closes his eyes.

Rey watches him, confused. This is the most time they’ve ever spent together without taking off their clothes. They don’t usually talk, because the only subjects that interest Randy are Kylo Ren and Rey, and if Rey gives Randy the slightest opening, he’s liable to babble about the Terebithian rock doves Kylo has ordered for his wedding or some other ludicrous plot. 

Rey fidgets with the zipper of her flightsuit. 

“Do you still wanna…?” she eventually asks. 

Randy’s forehead creases, and he looks at his feet. “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he says in a small voice. “I don’t…I don’t think it’s the right thing for me, anymore.” 

Rey blinks rapidly, the rejection stinging more than she would have thought possible.

“That’s…fine,” she says. “Whatever. That’s fine.” 

She doesn’t even like Randy. Or rather, maybe she likes his big warm body and the things it can do for her, and she likes the way she feels when she’s with him, and she likes the way he always lets her have her way when they’re doing it, and the way he rubs her shoulders afterwards, and… oh, fuck. 

She could never like someone in the First Order. Not really. 

“We’re just about done with this ship,” she says, her voice wooden.

“Yeah, plus I’ve heard through the grapevine that the Supreme Leader’s going to mass-execute the officers on this dreadnought next week anyway,” Randy mutters. “They’re all assholes.”

Rey pulls her mouth to the side in a simulacrum of a sympathetic smile. “I’ll bet. So you’ll be moving to a new assignment anyway.”

“Yeah,” Randy mutters, shuffling his feet.

“Okay,” Rey says, gathering her dignity around her. “I guess…I’ll see you around, Randy.”

When Poe reappears with a box of Armitage Hux’s bocce ball trophies and the dreadnought’s flight safety manual, Rey realizes that they’ve already stripped this ship for everything they could carry, anyway. This was the natural end of her and Randy’s relationship. If it could even be called that. 

* * *

“So, I know where to set the charges,” Poe tells the assembled Resistance officers the next week. “I can carry enough detonators in on foot, and time it to blow after we’re clear. They’re down to a skeleton crew with all the recent executions, but at least we’ll know they can’t resupply after they realize that everything’s missing.” 

Rey’s heart clenches at the thought of Randy blown up with the ship; she knows there are casualties in war, and they can’t afford to think about any of the lives lost every time the Resistance blows up a First Order ship (on this, every single member of the Resistance is of one mind and never thinks to question the cost in human lives of their tactical decisions). Randy’s made his choices and picked his side but…surely they don’t need to blow up the guy who just makes the caf and guards an empty hangar. 

At the sight of Rey’s stricken face, Finn pulls her aside and says, “look, you’ll have a chance to chance your fuckboy’s mind.” His face turns disgusted. “I can’t believe I just said that. It’s like I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore.” 

“Finn,” she says, heart full of turmoil.

“Rey,” he responds, expressing everything he needs to tell her in that one syllable. 

She flies Finn and Poe back to the dreadnought, now wallowing in dark space. There’s no reason for it to be drifting out towards dark space, but she supposes if Kylo Ren really did execute all the officers like Randy promised, it would be hard for the ship to go on mission.

When they dock, Randy isn’t waiting for them. Rey’s heart sinks, but Finn elbows her in the side. “You’ve got some time. We’ll set the charges. You go get your man.” 

Poe points out the intern barracks on his schematics, and Rey races away down the halls, holding her wig on with one hand as she sprints.

She shouts Randy’s name as she goes, pushing open hatch after hatch. The intern barracks are empty and stripped; the bunks don’t even look recently slept in. So she goes further into the crew quarters, accosting startled stormtroopers and demanding to know where Randy is.

They are too shocked to question why a poorly-groomed third-party procurement specialist wants their intern, it seems, and they shakily point their way aft to the officer’s quarters. Randy must be on a coffee delivery for whoever is in command of the ship, Rey thinks.

She runs on, getting a stitch in her side.

Finally, one white-faced lieutenant commander points her at a large, black hatch at the end of a wide corridor when she demands Randy’s location. 

Rey kicks it open, calling his name. 

Randy finally emerges from the bathroom at the rear of the quarters, hand on top of his head. His posture mimics her own. 

Force. Randy wears a wig. It’s horribly askew, falling into his eyes. His usual beanie is missing, and he wears something much less corporate and more sinister: unrelieved black, from head to toe. It’s much more like…Rey shakes her head. She needs to focus; she ship is about to blow up. She always assumed that Randy was covering up an epic bald spot with his beanie, but if he’s wearing a wig, he must be entirely hairless beneath it. 

That doesn’t matter. She can live with that.

“Randy,” she pants. “Please, come with me. You need to come with me. The Resistance is about to blow the ship.”

Randy’s eyes widen, and he looks to a lightsaber on a night table across the room. 

“Holy bantha shit,” Rey curses. “Is Kylo Ren on this ship? Is that his lightsaber?”

Randy ignores that, eyes still on the sword. “I can’t come with you, Karen. The Resistance wouldn’t take me.”

“They would,” Rey urges him. “I know they would. I’m kind of a big deal, and I told them I was going to bring you back.” 

“You? A procurement specialist?” he scoffs. Rey glares at him. The intern is going to criticize her career advancement.

Rey purses her lips, but there’s no time to explain. So, she pulls her wig off and tosses it at him. “Fine! Fine, you asshole. Look, I’m the Jedi you’ve had all those weird sex dreams about. It’s me. I’m Rey of Jakku, and I told them I’m bringing one First Order defector back with me to base. It’s allowed. You can fetch _my_ caf, and you can tell me, in detail, why you think Kylo Ren is planning our wedding.”

Randy’s face has turned a number of colors as she’s been speaking. It went bone white first, and then a sort of puplish, and now it’s settling in at a vibrant magenta. She might have broken Randy, Rey thinks. Well. At least he’ll be alive to regret all those things he told her about herself and how her ass compares to…her own ass. 

“You’re going to blow Kylo Ren up on this ship though,” he whispers. 

Rey clenches her hands into fists so hard that she feels them cut into her palm.

“I’ll give your man-crush two minutes' warning before I hit the detonator,” she finally spits out. “He’s hard to kill. Are you coming?”

Randy’s face runs through an entire gamut of emotions before he wipes his hands on his padded tunic and nods a shaky assent. 

She grabs his muscular upper arm and they run together, through the barracks, through the common areas, and back to the cargo hangar. Nobody stops them. 

Poe and Finn grimace a bit more than usual when they see them together, but make no comment as they quickly stow the gangplank of their freighter and launch.

Rey leaves Randy in the galley and checks with Poe and Finn in the cockpit. They’re in the middle of a low-toned argument when she enters, and their faces are deeply unhappy when they turn up to her.

“I know you’re not going to like this,” Rey says, on a deep breath, “but I promised I’d give Kylo Ren two minutes warning before we blow the dreadnaught. He’s kind of Randy’s hero.” 

Finn’s mouth spreads into a long, flat line, and Poe covers his eyes with both palms.

“Peanut…” Finn starts. "I can't believe I need to tell you this." 

* * *

Some few minutes later, Rey walks back into the galley. ‘Randy’ has a found a bag of blue puff cubes in a cabinet and is stuffing his stupid face with them. He looks up at her very innocently, for all that his wig does not even cover the thick black curls sticking out under his right ear

“Hi Rey,” he says. Rey closes the distance between them and cups his chin. He leans happily into the gesture. Then Rey snatches his wig off. He winces, blinking at her apologetically. 

“You whore,” Rey tells him, and spits on the ground. 

* * *

His black eye isn’t quite healed, but the wig’s in better position by the time Rey introduces the newest pilot recruit to the Resistance. 


End file.
